Jupiter rested on the summit of Maodal, whilst the Moon hid behind the hill
Nimbus in attendance; still, robed columns paraded from the horizon of sea
Silence, deep night; frost and the rocks – voices which can be felt.
The deer track led over the sleeping streams, over the warm heather that lulls to dream
A path no man would think of walking, in a landscape which hides itself
There, the soil vibrates, burned by the tracks of the stars
And all is shuddered through with omen.
The spirit of the goose pulls me over the blue rocks
Between two summits, the home of an eagle:
And I am brought to my knees before one pool:
I am the stars which look out through Winter’s pool
To see her looking back, bedecked in Summer’s light
Priest Island lets slide its slopes darkly into the West
Turned from human eyes, pulsing into the secret Atlantic
Sucking away sea, hail, swathes of cloud into the beast, unseen, on the edges
Dreaming of Mars, I woke to that bellow of an infinite sea road
It requested forgetfulness;
So I see, in my vanity, that I channel nothing but my own story
Uncover no mythos
Only my terror in the pool reflected
A Silence Tradition leads me to the mirrors between Maodal and Greabhal
There, an awareness of the nameless others
Robed, encircling me
They flow in the inbetween;
I would be with them, but too often deny my own nature.
They are of the forgetting soil
Neither guardians no preachers.
My mind is filled with the shores of Mars:
I would be with them.
Descending, I watch the geese fly over Scarista.
I would be of them – interlocked with landscape
Neither jarring others or myself
That night, without a trace of my visit
Jupiter rested on Maodal, which occulted the Moon.
(Music: Sketch for “A Second Before”)